


Unravel

by franticatlantic



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franticatlantic/pseuds/franticatlantic
Summary: Tyler is never hungry anymore. yes he is





	

**Author's Note:**

> !!! please read the tags this is very possibly triggering !!!
> 
> for an [anon](http://vintagetyler.tumblr.com/post/152673377078/possible-tw-for-eating-disorders-could-you-do-a) on tumblr who asked for a non-au eating disorder fic. i'm sorry this is so short - i really wanted to do it justice.

When Tyler pukes it’s the color of skin. Not his skin, golden brown and eternally tanned by the sun. It’s the color of Josh - a dusky salmon interlaced with cinnamon. The three crackers he had for lunch. The crackers that made him feel sick and disgusting, sitting in his stomach like a weight.

He is not clean. But he needs to be. Squeaky and pink inside - empty.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he feels where the enamel is chipping and peeling away, eaten by the bile that floods his mouth every time he sticks his fingers down his throat.

He’s eroding, crumbling like old rock in a mud slide.

But he’s not clean, not yet.

Tyler flushes the toilet and watches his vomit swirl around and around. Eventually it’s gone, clear water left in its wake, reflecting his own face up at him atop the porcelain.

Josh doesn’t know about this. And Tyler hopes he never does.

-

During one of their days off, they go to the boardwalk.

It’s a mild day, but Tyler is freezing. Josh has on a T-shirt and jeans, but Tyler has opted for his Adidas track pants and a hoodie.

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re cold,” Josh says, as Mark runs ahead to chase a seagull. “It’s so nice out.”

Tyler shrugs and muscles up to Josh, squirming against him. “Maybe I’m getting sick. Warm me up?”

Josh throws an arm around his shoulders and kisses the top of his head and Tyler feels warm already.

His stomach grumbles as they pass the arcade and Josh glances down at him. “You hungry?”

_Panicfearanger_ strikes the left side of Tyler’s head and he winces. “Not at all.”

But Josh just rolls his eyes and starts leading him to a concession stand nearby. “C’mon. I’ve been craving cotton candy anyway.”

Tyler’s breath is choppy and he starts to shiver harder. “I’m really not hungry, Joshie. You can get one, though, and I’ll share yours.”

He won’t. Josh can’t make him eat.

Josh orders a single cotton candy and the girl hands it over, huge and fluffy, like a big pink cloud.

“It matches your hair,” Tyler says, because it does and because he wants to take Josh’s mind off the fact that Tyler might be hungry. Because he’s not he’s notnotnot.

Ripping a piece off and tossing it in his mouth, Josh moans. “Oh God, Ty. You _have_ to try some.”

He holds a piece out to Tyler between his fingers and if Tyler doesn’t eat it Josh will know something’s wrong. Mechanically, he stretches his tongue out, like a little pink conveyor belt. Josh sets the cotton candy fluff on it and Tyler retracts.

It’s so damn sugary and it hurts going down, like he’s swallowing razorblades. Hurts even more once it’s settled in his stomach, so empty all day now churning from so much sugar.

“Good, right?” Josh puts his arm back around Tyler’s shoulders and Tyler nods.

Later, on the bus, he sticks his fingers so far back in his throat that he closes his eyes against tears. He throws up twice: once to get the food out and a second time for good measure, stomach acid burning his esophagus and spilling over his lips.

But he’s clean, at least for now, pressing his cheek to the cold porcelain of the toilet seat.

C L E A N.

-

In the mirror, he rolls his shirt up and turns sideways, sees the little divots in his hipbones, the way his wrists are thinner than they were before, the hollows of his ribs straining against the skin pulled taught over most of his torso.

Except his stomach. His belly is distended and he can’t figure out why. All he had today was a celery stick and six Goldfish. He cups the pudge with his hand and jiggles it. His thighs are huge, ballooning out against the door, his feet the size of tugboats, his arms elephant trunks.

He pulls his shirt down.

All day he’s felt fine, but when he steps onstage under the flashing lights he starts to waiver, swaying in a way he pretends is to the music.

When he goes to hop onto his piano, he makes it halfway up and then a black spot appears in his vision and he can’t see where he’s supposed to put his foot. He falls, head colliding with the piano keys in a dull cacophony of sound that lasts only as long as Tyler’s able to stay conscious.

Which is long enough to see Josh running over, worry etched into every line of his face.

Josh can’t know.

-

“There’s something wrong with him, I just don’t know what-“

“Josh?”

Startled, Josh tries to hide the fact that he was on the phone, shoving it into his pocket even as Tyler can hear the person on the other line saying, “Hello? Josh?”

“Who were you talking to?” Tyler shuffles forward, eyelids drooping. He’s so tired. And cold.

But not hungry.

“No one,” Josh lies, rubs his hands on his pants as he sits on the couch in the back room, crosses his legs.

Tyler goes to him, sinks down beside him and kisses his neck, his jaw, the curve of his shoulder. He worms bony fingers between Josh’s crossed legs and wiggles them. “Do you wanna have sex?”

“You’ve been losing a lot of weight, Ty,” Josh says and Tyler can’t figure out why he sounds so sad. This is a good thing! To hear Josh say it makes Tyler happy. He’s losing weight. Soon he’ll be cleaner than clean. Pristine. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Tyler tells him, tugging at Josh’s thigh. Once upon a time he may have been able to pull his boyfriend’s muscular legs apart, but now he’s too weak.

No matter, because Tyler can still say nasty things in Josh’s ear and rub the parts of Josh he can reach.

But Josh won’t fuck him, no matter how hard Tyler tries. Which isn’t very hard, actually.

After Josh gives him a chaste kiss to the cheek he gives up, tired and moody, and curls up alone in his bunk. It takes him a long time to get to sleep.

-

Josh comes back to the hotel room with a bag of Chinese carryout.

Tyler’s been sleeping all day because that’s all he has the energy for. He rubs at his face and feels the delightful jut of his eye socket. He yawns and grins. “Hi, Joshie.”

The clap Josh gives is loud, like it’s right in Tyler’s ear. He flings the covers off of Tyler, exposing his thin legs. Tyler shivers and whines. “None of that,” Josh says, flicking Tyler’s thigh. He’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. “It’s time to get up and eat.”

Immediately Tyler falls back to the mattress, curling up into a ball that takes up less than a quarter of the bed. “‘M tired, Joshie. Why don’t you come nap with me instead? Then we’ll eat.”

“Nope.” Josh is pulling at him, and Tyler’s not fighting. He wants to, but he’s just so damn exhausted. “You’re gonna sit here. And you’re gonna eat.”

He sits Tyler down at the table and then plops down across from him. Tyler runs a hand through his brittle hair and a tremor wracks his body. “Can I have your jacket?”

“Of course.” Josh takes it off and hands it across the table. Tyler can see the thermostat across the room says 80, but he’s still freezing. “You are gonna eat, right?”

Popping his head through the neck of Josh’s hoodie, Tyler recognizes the look Josh is giving him, the same one from the boardwalk. The one that tells him if he doesn’t eat something very bad is going to happen.

Almost robotically, Tyler unties the bag and pulls out two boxes. He knows just from the smell of one that it’s Josh’s lobster lo mein, which he hands across the table and plunks purposefully down in front of the other man. He expects Josh to start eating, but Josh doesn’t. He just continues to stare at Tyler.

A fork, a knife, a small container of rice, and a dinner platter size chicken and broccoli. Tyler pops the lid and the smell makes his stomach churn. He turns his head and rocks forward.

Josh is still watching him.

“Josh, c’mon. Please. I’m not hungry.”

“Tyler. Eat.”

Tyler doesn’t want to eat ~~yes he does~~ , Tyler wants to cry.

On the tip of his fork, he stabs a piece of chicken and brings it to his mouth. He pauses one last time, Josh leans forward infinitesimally, and Tyler stuffs the piece of chicken past his lips.

He’s chewing (onetwothreefourfivesix) and then he eats another piece (onetwothreefour) and another (onetwothreefourfive). Swallowing feels worse than razorblades. Swallowing feels like a chainsaw being shoved down his throat.

Josh raises his eyebrows almost unthinkingly.

“It’s good,” Tyler says, jaw tight.

If Josh doesn’t leave right now something very bad is going to happen.

“Good,” Josh says. “Eat some more.”

“No, I-“

“Tyler. Please.”

All at once Tyler’s stomach tosses and he has to get it out. He stands with a jerk, Josh mirroring him, worried. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and sprints to the bathroom.

He doesn’t care if Josh is behind him, doesn’t care if Josh sees. Falls to his knees, pushes the toilet lid up, and sticks two fingers against the very back of his tongue, knuckles pressing into the ridges of his teeth. He hacks and coughs and the chicken comes up covered in slime and bile, plopping into the toilet like mini nukes hitting the ocean.

“Oh, _Tyler_ ,” Josh says, from right behind him. “Tyler, Tyler, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. Please forgive me. Please, I’m gonna make you better I promise. I promise, baby boy.”

Tyler is in Josh’s arms with sick all down his front, on Josh’s hoodie, being rocked back and forth. Josh keeps saying sorry sorry, and Tyler doesn’t know why.

This is what he wanted, after all. He wanted Josh to know, really, in the back of his mind.

He always wanted Josh to make him clean.

**Author's Note:**

> always taking requests at my [tumblr](http://vintagetyler.tumblr.com).


End file.
